Pulp Fan Fiction
by Ankh Paradox
Summary: I'm not sure about this one it was origionaly suposed to be something diffrent but changed as I wrote it. It's set in the a possible future for the series. Not much happens so don't expect anything epic - Reviews would be nice.


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Pulp Fan Fiction

This is supposed to be a glimpse of a possible future for the Harry Potter series. Both Harry and Hermione are working undercover against Voldemort. I don't own any of the characters and this isn't even my copy of word.

It wasn't a large café they sat in, but by no means was it a small one. Only half the tables were in use allowing people to spread out as they pleased and no matter how many customers came and went the trendy illusion was somehow maintained. The table they sat at was plain, undressed and sensible. The pot of bread sticks was exactly centred, flanked by the salt and the pepper.

She looked at him, his strong features contrasting and complementing the soft chords played by the piano, which sat somewhere amongst the candles, stools and cocktails. His eyes were dipped, engrossed in the sham of flicking through the menu. Drawing upon the calm he radiated she lowered her head to the wine list.

He watched from behind the cardboard as she began to study the drinks on offer. There would be no time for drinking tonight but even so she played her part perfectly weighing each bottle up against the others on unseen scales. Even tonight when he should be cold and sharp he could not help but feel warmth from her eyes. Such perfect eyes soft and brown but also deep and intelligent. So deep that time seemed to fall into them as he sat there in his dinner suit. She blinked and looked up quickly suddenly aware of his scrutiny; the risqué pendant hanging on her neck was sent swinging like a pendulum by the sudden movement. They both looked at it, perhaps embarrassed at the voyeur of the situation, or maybe, simply, because there was nothing to say.

For the first time that evening their eyes met, her brown to his green. She was reflected in his and he in hers. The gaze lingered like a bubble on the verge of bursting. The sudden beep shattered the illusion it was shrill and unwelcome to the ears. For a second or more they ignored the sound then, with no more time left to waste, he answered the damn phone. The text simply read 'go'.

As one they stood and stepped back from the table, melting into a sudden kiss. Then as was prearranged, all hell broke loose.

His well-aimed kick sent the table to the floor with a clatter. The piano sounded a broken chord and then stopped playing completely. They broke apart, the kiss ending with both of them holding wands at arm length ready for use. 

Someone scrambled from a chair by the door but his escape was cut short by a scathing sentence. 

"Sit down; shut up and don't try anything that'll get on my nerves." That being said she walked to the centre of the room, slowly and with deliberate confidence. He adopted the same style and made his way to the exit where he stood just over the threshold. She continued: "We know this place is owned by death eaters and we know that many of you also carry that title. Each of you will empty your belongings onto the tables and have identification ready for inspection." The room was filled with frantic rustling as its occupants hurried to obey.

"You by the salad bar," he took control now, "sit down and do what the lady says." A whisper from beyond a serving trolley drifted over to him, before he had a chance to move she was dealing with it.

"I thought I told you to shut up?" The sound of a breaking wineglass emphasised the venom in her words.

For a second he wondered if the peace could be kept. He readjusted his grip on the wand, as he moved it to point at a group of grey suited businessmen. A crack shot through the air, then another, and another. A stern faced wizard or witch in heavy riot gear accompanied each loud report. He sighed and walked out of the heavy doors. Another job done.

Later that night she sat at the abandoned piano, her fingers ringing a few simple sounds form the ivory keys. The sound of glass being crunched underfoot caused her to spin on the elegant stool. He stood there, jacket hung over one shoulder, watching her reaction. She broke the silence, 

"I think we did a good job tonight." He nodded and walked over to her, she met him half way and there was another silence. He smiled suddenly.

"I think it was a shame we had to ruin dinner." She returned his mirth with a small laugh. "Maybe one day I'll take you to place like this for real, it'd be nice."

"Yes, nice." She agreed and then reached up to kiss him on the cheek before pulling away. "Well, goodnight Harry."

"Goodnight Hermione."


End file.
